


The Drugs Don't Work

by ladyknightley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Harry/Ginny, F/M, Humour, Romance, Utter ridiculousness, really this is almost crack, thoroughly inaccurate medical knowledge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightley/pseuds/ladyknightley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron's injured in the line of duty. The atmosphere in the hospital room is less bleak than you might expect, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drugs Don't Work

**Author's Note:**

> An anonymous tumblr user prompted: Ron is injured during an Auror mission, and loses his memory of being with Hermione. He wakes up in St Mungo's and doesn't understand that we're together. Fluff ensues. Bonus points if Harry and/or Ginny have to explain that they're dating.

“Oh my God, Hermione! Thank Merlin. I came as soon as I could, Harry owled me, but the idiots in charge didn’t pass it on me until I’d finished training— _training_! Like that’s important right now!—and then I had to get through the Croatian Ministry, and, well, I thought I was asking for the first available _Portkey_ back to England, but it turns out I was asking for the first available _potato_ back to England, and then—but it doesn’t matter, how is he, what’s going on?!”

“All clear,” Hermione replies, cutting across her frantic shouting, and Ginny visibly sags against the wall. “He was in a lot of danger at first—the hit several rather vital arteries with severing charms—” Ginny squeaks, “—but the team of Healers were incredible, and the other Aurors, too. They were able to stem the flow of the bleeding long enough to get him here, then the professionals took over and he’s going to be absolutely fine, once he’s rested.”

“Oh, thank God,” Ginny says again. “Where’s Harry? Can I see him? Ron, I mean, but I’ll see Harry too, and—”

“Ginny—” Hermione leads her to some chairs in the waiting room, sits her down gently. Ginny gets the feeling she’s withholding something, something important, and she begins to panic. Ron’s absolutely fine—that’s what she said, her own words. “All clear”, Hermione said that too, but there’s something... Ginny realises that, despite the fact that her fiancé was almost killed in the line of duty earlier, Hermione is remarkably relaxed. More than relaxed, she seems to be supressing amusement.

She resists the urge to whip out her wand and make her magically prove her identity, like they used to during the war. This isn’t Hermione. If Ron is in any kind of danger at all, she’s always in full meltdown mode, fussing and panicking not...giggling?

“What’s going on?!”

Hermione waits for a passing Healer to leave, then turns back to Ginny. “He’s going to be fine. His injuries will heal completely in a very short space of time, and he is in no long-term danger at all. He’ll get a couple of weeks’ medical leave from the Aurors, then be able to return to work with no problems, the Healers have assured us.”

“But?” asks Ginny.

“But they gave him some pain killing potions, and...”

“He’s allergic to them?”

“Not exactly,” Hermione says, lips twitching. “It’s probably easier just to show you. Come on, he’s through here. Harry’s there, too.”

She leads the way down the corridor, and Ginny tries to brace herself, but it’s hard to do that when you don’t know what you’re bracing yourself for. Hermione’s taller than she is, and they’re so close behind that she can’t see around her when she opens the door first. “Ron?” she says gently. “I’m back! And look who I found.”

She steps aside, and Ginny gets a good look at her brother for the first time. He’s a bit pale, maybe, and he _is_ in a hospital bed, which always makes anyone look ten times iller than they actually are. But for someone who was badly hurt in an Auror-assignment-gone-wrong not six hours ago, he doesn’t look too bad at all.

“Ah,” he says brightly, turning to Ginny. “Mum! Cor! You’ve lost weight.”

Ginny’s mouth drops open. Hermione bursts into a fit of giggles and Harry stuffs his fist in his mouth to prevent himself from joining her. “ _Mum_?!” she says, but Ron is already ignoring her.

“I can tell her what to do, now,” he says to Harry. “Because I’m a Nora. Nora. I’m Nora. I have a _badge_. It says Nora. I’m Ron and I’m Nora. It’s my job.”

Hermione has to sit down in a nearby chair, she’s giggling so much.

“They give me money to do Nora, Harry,” Ron says, nodding.

“Is that so?” Harry manages.

“Uh-huh. But I’ve got another job, too. I do shops. I...amma shopkeeper. And I wear a robe that’s _magenta_. I do, you know,” he says, as though there was a question over this fact. “You might not believe it, but it’s true. It doesn’t look very good, though, pink. On me. Do you know why? It’s because I have...hair,” he whispers this last, in the same sort of tone you might admit to having a bizarre fetish, or an embarrassing illness on an unfortunately private body part.

And it’s too much for Harry, who has to remove his glasses to wipe away the tears of laughter.

“Oh dear...” Hermione giggles, wiping at her own eyes.

“He’s high on painkiller?” Ginny asks, amused.

Hermione nods. “The Healers have assured us he’ll be totally fine,” she says. “It can happen sometimes with the really strong potions; they had to give him something intense because of the extent of his injuries.” She visibly sobers, and Ginny reaches over and takes hold of her hand, squeezing it tightly.

“He _will_ be fine,” Hermione says again, sounding more confident. “But at first—well. We were worried. Harry got a message to me, I was at work and I came straight here—I actually arrived at the same time they did, saw him covered in blood on the port-stretcher. It was horrifying. We didn’t know, then, that his injuries were relatively superficial, and it was...scary. So obviously we were both incredibly relieved to hear everything would be okay, and then when they bought him out like this...I suppose it’s as much hysteria on our part as it is on his.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there sooner,” Ginny says, but Hermione waves off her apology. (Harry is busy trying to guess what animal Ron’s being—his impersonation is apparently of a dragon, but all he’s doing is screwing up his face tightly and Ginny thinks Harry’s doing well not to tell him he looks like a constipated owl.)

“You were busy; it’s fine. Your parents came, and Percy—he was at the Ministry, too. They left only about half an hour ago, when it became clear that there was little else we could do for Ron but wait for this to pass. The Healers pop in every now and then to check on him, but there’s nothing to worry about. Based on the dose they gave him, the effects should wear off in a couple of hours which means—”

 “Oh, shut up, Hermy-oh-ninny!” Ron barks.

There’s a sudden, immediate silence and Ginny has to stifle a laugh at the expression on Hermione’s face. It’s probably fairly similar to the one she was wearing when Ron called her Mum. Then, before any of them can say anything, Ron slaps a hand across his face. “Oh, oh no!” he says. “Oh no. Oh Harry. Oh, no.”

“What is it, Ron?” Harry asks patiently.

“Oh, this is bad,” Ron says, starting to shake his head violently. “Very bad. Much bad. I’m bad. Oh no.”

“Is it wise for him to be getting this agitated?” Hermione asks crisply. It’s her Wizengamot voice, Ginny notes.

“Ssh, Ron, it’s okay,” Harry says gently, reaching out to him. “You’re alright. It’s okay.” Ron grabs his arm in a vice-like grip, yanking Harry forwards.

“Should I send for a Healer?” Hermione says. Ginny half-rises from her chair.

“We should be okay, shouldn’t we Ron?” Harry says cheerfully. “We’re all okay, yeah? It’s alright. It’s okay.” The soothing works—Ron’s still holding onto him, looking horrified, but the excessive head-shaking has stopped, at least.

“I’m not okay. I told my-Hermione to shut up. Not going to be okay. I won’t. She’s going to...to...to cut bits of me off. Important bits. She might...Harry, what if she goes for my TOES?!” He looks genuinely afraid.

“Maybe you should work on toning down your aggression,” Ginny stage-whispers to Hermione, whilst Harry reassures him that Hermione won’t, probably, do that. “Stop him living in fear of you.”

“Oh, shush,” Hermione says, waving a hand at her. She’s still staring at Ron, her face a mixture of insulted, amused, concerned, and Ginny wonders which emotion she’ll let win.

“You just don’t get it, Harry,” Ron says. “You’re a moron. I shouldn’t’ve insulted her. Now she’ll _never_ fancy me!”

This is too much for Ginny, who bursts into peals of laughter, but Ron ignores this. It’s as though he’s already forgotten that the two women are in the room. “Oh, Harry,” he sighs. “I like her _so much_. She’s so great. She’s got...legs, and everything. And a really huge...what’s it called...brain. I _really_ fancy her.”

“Did you have any idea?” Ginny gasps, faux-shocked. Hermione won’t meet her eye, but her lips are twitching again.

“You fancy her, huh?” asks Harry. “Blimey. I had no idea.”

“Oh, good,” Ron says quickly. “That means she probably doesn’t, either. But actually. You’re no good at noticing _anything_. She’s good at noticing. She’s got huge noticers. She probably does know I fancy her. Oh _dear_. What’m I gonna do?”

“He may be high as a kite but he does have a point, you know. You _are_ totally clueless most of the time,” Ginny says, and Harry sticks his tongue out at her. Apparently, immaturity is catching.

“Look,” says Harry, turning back to Ron. “Maybe it won’t be that bad. Maybe she fancies you, too.”

“Ooh, do you Hermione?” squeals Ginny. “Do you fancy him, do you?!”

“Look, I’ve only got time in my life for one ridiculous red-head at the moment,” Hermione replies, “and poor Ron has an excuse for his condition.”

“Poor Ron?” Ginny echoes. “You’re kind of flattered by this, aren’t you?” she adds, noticing Hermione’s faint blush. “Ooh, Hermione, I really fancy you too, your huge brain really turns me on—”

“Don’t tease him,” Hermione says primly. “It’s not his fault he’s been adversely affected by this potion. We shouldn’t mock him when he’s incapacitated.”

“You’d better hope it’s temporary,” Ginny says, as Ron demands to know if Harry really thinks Hermione would ever fancy him.

“...maybe?” Harry says, smirking.

Ron’s eyes bulge. “ _Really_? Bloody hell.” This shuts him up for all of three seconds, and Ginny’s about to ask if she can go and get the others some food—its dinner time, but she thinks popcorn might be more appropriate—when Ron pipes up again. “How’d you think I could get her to fancy me?”

“Oh, you know,” Harry says vaguely, “just be yourself. And get her flowers, chocolates, the usual stuff...”

“Hmm,” says Ron, sounding morose. “I can’t be me. I’m not really fanciable. Hermione’s too clever to like a guy like _me_.” Ginny swears she actually _hears_ Hermione’s heart melt at this, as she leans forward, opening her mouth, but Harry shakes his head, holding up a hand to her. She looks instead at Hermione, who’s looking at Ron with such a disgustingly sappy expression that Ginny feels quite nauseated. And a little bit amused, too.

Ron appears to have forgotten that there’s anyone else in the room except Harry, and he looks forlornly at his best friend. “Ron,” Harry says firmly. “I have it on good authority that Hermione absolutely does fancy you. You’re very fanciable. To. Er. Hermione.”

“No,” Ron insists. “Girls like guys like Draco Malfoy. Dunno why. S’got a face like a bum.”

Hermione giggles, trying to stifle the sound so Ron won’t look around and realise she’s there. “He’s got a point,” Ginny stage-whispers to her. “Draco Malfoy _has_ got a face like a bum.”

“It’s why I fancy him so much,” Hermione nods, and it’s Ginny’s turn to stifle her giggles. Harry, meanwhile, is trying to convince Ron that Hermione doesn’t fancy Draco Malfoy and instead likes him. Honestly, thinks Ginny, it’s like they’re all thirteen years old again.

“Look, Ron,” Harry says in his no-nonsense voice. “I have some news for you, about Hermione. You’ve got to listen to what I’ve got to say, okay?”

“Okay,” Ron says, nodding rapidly and trying to push himself upright.

“Now, listen,” says Harry. “You were hurt in an accident earlier today. You’re going to be totally fine, but the reason you feel a bit funny at the moment is because they had to give you some very strong potions to stop the pain, and they’ve made your brain go a bit weird temporarily.”

“This is the fifth time we’ve told him this,” Hermione says to Ginny. “He keeps forgetting.”

“But I have to tell you something. Hermione likes you very much. In fact, you’re engaged to her,” Harry explains gently. “You’ve been together many years now, and last year you asked her to marry you. She said yes. So you don’t need to worry about anything. She likes you—even when you’re a blithering idiot, like you are now—and once the potion has worn off, you’re going to go home with her and live happily ever after.”

“I’m...I’m engaged to HERMIONE?!” Ron shouts. He sounds like Harry’s just told him he’s won the lottery, or that he’s been chosen to rule the world. Harry assures him it’s true. This takes some time.

“I’m _definitely_ engaged to her?” he asks, after about the fifth round of assurances.

“You’re definitely engaged to her,” Harry says.

“ _Bloody hell_ ,” Ron says, with feeling.

There’s a rather extended pause, during which Harry closes his eyes and leans back against the uncomfortable chair. Because of the mission, he’s been awake for nearly twenty-four hours now, and has spent most of said hours on a tense and difficult mission, then worrying about Ron whilst he was in surgery. Once he knew his best friend would be okay, he had visions of meeting up with Ginny and finding some way to relax with her. Some way that did not involve reassuring her older brother about his romantic capabilities... The world often seems to have a different agenda, when it comes to him and Ginny, though.

“Harry,” Ron says, very seriously.

“Yes,” he says, equally grave.

“If we’re engaged—me an’ Hermione, I mean, not me and you. Don’t wanna be engaged with you. You’re really vacant. Not engaged at all. Me and Hermione. Should we. Do you think. Do you think...” and he lowers his voice, looking around as best he can from his lying down position in the bed.

“Do you think we’ve had sex?” he says conspiratorially.

“At _least_ twice,” Harry says seriously.

“Cor,” says Ron. Then, once more, with serious feeling. “ _Cor_.”

Ginny’s laughing so hard she’s no longer making any noise at all. Hermione is biting her lip and trying very, _very_ hard not to suggest to her fiancé that she is in any way making fun of him whilst he’s medically incapacitated. Harry just looks resigned.

“That’s what,” he says, “she said.”


End file.
